Riptide
by droidgirl
Summary: "Don't you dare!" she hissed, drawing her face closer. Her cheeks were flushed in righteous anger, her eyes were clear and bright. She seemed heedless of the fact that his fingers were curled around her small wrist in an iron grip. "You made it clear that you didn't want to be - how did you put it - my boyfriend. Don't you dare act like a cheated lover." Post flatline ep...spoilery
1. Vanished

**Vanished**

Clara followed the Doctor back into the TARDIS, shutting the door on Bristol behind her. Watching the Doctor fiddling with buttons on the console, she found herself swallowing nervously.

"I could be insane, but…are you angry with me?" she asked, gingerly stepping closer towards him.

"And why would you think that?" he began to clear away some of the clutter that had been haphazardly strewn around TARDIS during the recent fray.

"Well for starters, there's the attitude," she said bluntly, unable to stop herself. "Then there's the part where you seem incapable of looking me in the eye."

The Doctor did not respond, choosing instead to busy himself with the immediate and trivial tasks at hand.

"Also, you're ignoring me," she pointed out gently, following a few steps behind him.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he finally answered after a half a minute of silence.

"You can tell me why you're mad at me," she said. "Instead of sulking like a massive girl's blouse."

His movements stilled, and Clara shut her eyes, wishing she could take back the words she had just said. Granted, she was attempting to lighten the mood, but sometimes, sometimes she still forgot that he was not the same man she had met, who would probably have pouted flirtatiously at her in response, made a clever quip and moved on.

"Fine. Let's talk about it." The Doctor slammed the items he had gathered down on the console surface. An object he had only just retrieved rolled off the ledge, landing on the ground with a loud clatter.

"Um, you dropped a…" Clara's eyes followed the metallic item's journey across the TARDIS floor, wishing she hadn't just started a conversation she didn't necessarily know how to follow through with.

"What am I to you, exactly?" the Doctor asked, coming closer to her. "Am I your friend? Am I the distraction you keep around to spice up your dull, humdrum, human life? Or perhaps, more accurately, you think of me as your _dirty little secret, _your…your _fluff_ on the side even."

Clara backed away from him, step for step, but found to her slight alarm that she had hit the edges of the platform she stood on. Her back was against the wall, and he was standing before her, close enough she could almost feel his fury brushing up against her.

"Doctor, none of that is…" she started.

"True?" he finished her sentence. "Have you become such a good liar that you've started to believe in your own fictions?"

She wanted to wither under the intense trajectory of his gaze as he stared at her; his nostrils flared slightly in his attempt to regain some semblance of self control. As she looked back at him, studying his features in strange breathless anticipation of what was to come next, she saw something flicker under his anger which she couldn't quite identify.

Or rather, it was simpler not to name it, she admitted silently to herself. It was simpler not to speak aloud all the words they kept to themselves.

* * *

><p>Was it mere hours ago, he thought as he gazed at her, when he had asked in that tremulous voice (an unfamiliar tone he hated coming out his own mouth) if she would consider leaving her possessions onboard his ship. If she would leave at least a part of herself behind, with him.<p>

His fingers curled against his sides, aching to reach out and touch her.

"What was it like?" he asked now, instead, letting his pettiness win out. "To have me speaking to you in one ear, and him in the other? Did it give you some sort of…I don't know, _power trip_, to have both of us giving you our undivided attention?"

With startling quickness, her hand flew up, ready to strike his cheek in anger, but his own reflexes were faster.

"Don't you dare!" she hissed, drawing her face closer. Her cheeks were flushed in righteous anger, her eyes were clear and bright. She seemed heedless of the fact that his fingers were curled around her small wrist in an iron grip. "You made it clear that you didn't want to be - how did you put it - _my boyfriend_. Don't you fucking _dare_ act like a cheated lover. You don't have the _right_."

It would have been so easy, he realized looking down at her, to lean in and kiss her right then. To pull her body close against his as he swallowed her rage.

_She would let you too_, a quiet voice whispered at the back of his mind, a voice which he knew spoke the truth.

"Let me go," she said at last, her voice suddenly less steady, sounding as if she were going to cry.

"I wish I could Clara." he replied even as he released his hold on her and stepped back. Running his fingers through his short curls, he stalked back towards the console and keyed in a set of coordinates he knew by heart.

"Doctor…I'm sorry." she said from behind after a moment, her footsteps soft as she approached. "I didn't mean to lie to you."

"Yes, you did." he knew he was being childish right then by allowing his irritation to guide his words and actions. "I can't pretend to understand why you lied to me, but I do know that I will not be treated this way."

"I promise you, I will never lie to you again," she said quickly.

"There you go once more." he smiled mirthlessly, reaching for the engine lever.

"Please." her small hand reached out and touched his placatingly, but it didn't stop him from pulling the lever nonetheless.

The TARDIS rocked, causing Clara to stumble. Instinctively, he reached out and steadied her, trying to ignore how she felt in his arms as she clung to him.

As the ship settled, she looked up at him, eyes wide and suspiciously wet, and seemingly disinclined to let go of him.

"I'm sorry." she said, and he believed her.

He wanted very badly to push the hair out of her face; he wanted very badly to lean down and press his mouth against hers. Part of him wondered if she would taste like the Victorian barmaid he had met in another life, all spices and honey, heady and sweet like a fine wine. He had felt the first glimmers of intoxication then, and he wasn't sure that he had ever sobered since.

"I'm sorry too," he murmured, gently extricating himself from her. "But I've delivered you safe and sound to your door, just as you had asked for."

"I don't want to go. Not right now. Not like this," she said stubbornly, staring at him.

"I'm not asking," the Doctor turned away from her. "I'm telling you. Go."

A Timelord's psychic abilities were unnecessary for him to tell that she was surprised, hurt even at the fact that he was plainly kicking her out.

"Ok," she said softly after what felt like a very long silence. "Will I see you again?"

_I couldn't stop myself if I tried, and I have,_ he thought.

"Just go. I'll see you soon." he muttered.

Returning his attention to the console, he heard rather than saw the TARDIS door shutting, leaving him alone on his ship.


	2. All Along the Watchtower

**All Along the Watchtower**

_4,876,523 AD_

_Somewhere in the Orion Nebula_

The dive was either the last human bar in existence, or it was damn near close to holding that dubious distinction.

The Doctor stood at the doorway of what could barely be considered 'an establishment', gazing into the poorly lit interior with vague distaste. Stepping through, his senses were immediately assailed by the smell of cigarette smoke, stale alcohol and rotting wood.

_So this is how the human race goes out_, he thought. _Not with a bang, but with what looks like the makings of a bad hangover_.

"Customers allowed in here only," a gruff voice said from behind the bar. "Order a drink, or get the hell out."

"How could I resist such great customer service?" the Doctor mused aloud, approaching the rickety counter, settling down on a filthy and wobbly stool.

The bartender ignored his quip and instead, set a smudged glass down in front of the Time Lord. The Doctor stared as the bartender poured a brown liquid into the tumbler, wondering when the offending item had been last cleaned. Shrugging, he picked it up and downed the beverage in one gulp. It certainly wasn't the scotch he favoured and it was barely whiskey. If anything the slightly sweet taste told him that the drink was probably made from putrefied fruit.

"Again," he slammed the glass down on the cracked surface.

"Whatever you say boss," the bartender sneered. "But I'm going to need to see some credits – that last drink weren't free,"

Reaching into his breast pocket, the Doctor removed some of the currency he had obtained. Handing over the greasy wad to the proprietor, the other man did his best to hide his astonishment at the amount he was being given.

"Keep the drinks coming until I say stop." The Doctor said.

"Yes…sir," the bartender grinned. It wasn't a pleasant smile, but nonetheless, he complied. Unseen by the Doctor, he made a signal with his hand to a dark corner of the room.

* * *

><p>The Doctor supposed he was being extremely irresponsible, but just then, he wasn't keen on caring. It was a real shame his Time Lord constitution would prevent him from getting fully inebriated, but the rotgut he was drinking was assisting in taking the edge off from the last few hours.<p>

Staring at the bottom of the glass, he wondered how he had let things become so complicated.

He thought of Rose and River and how they had endlessly pursued his affections. Grimacing, he remembered how he had distanced himself from them, abandoning one in a parallel universe, while barely even trying to fulfill his husbandly duties to the other. It had seemed like such the responsible thing to do then.

Taking another sip of the vile liquid before him, he tried to suppress the feeling that he was living out a ridiculous intergalactic soap opera.

"Is this seat taken?" a feminine voice asked at his right elbow. Turning, he was greeted by the sight of a woman sliding onto the stool beside his. Her hair was long, straight and dark, as dark as her eyes. For a moment, both his hearts stopped as he regarded her through the fog of tobacco, wondering if he had found another one of Clara's echoes.

_Damn her_, he recoiled. _I can't shake her shade can I?_

The Doctor scrutinized the newcomer a second longer, and realized to his relief that aside from a passing resemblance, the woman beside him was neither Clara Oswald, nor one of her many doppelgangers scattered throughout history.

"No." He turned away, deciding that his best course of action was to ignore her.

"Mm. Won't you be a gentleman and buy a girl a drink?" her voice was low and sultry.

Sighing, The Doctor signaled the server, indicating that his newfound companion should be served. There was a profound sense of annoyance in the knowledge that his self-pity party had probably been disrupted.

"You're new here," she tried again.

"What gave me away?" he sniped. "The fact that I've bathed, or the fact that I still have all my teeth?"

"Aren't you just a treat," she muttered, accepting the drink from the bartender who gave her a warning glare – an interaction which this time, did not go unnoticed by the Doctor.

"I'm sorry," he turned to look at her. "I'm not being very nice. I'm the Doctor – and you are…?"

"Lily," she smiled. It was a sweet smile, which didn't quite reach her shadowed and sunken eyes. "I just wanted to come over and see if you needed some company for the night. You seem lonely."

"If I said no," the Doctor asked softly and carefully. "What will happen to you?"

"That's a strange question to ask," she tittered nervously. He didn't miss the tremor that ran through her too-thin frame, a shiver borne half of fear, and half of something worse. It was a junkie's shake.

"Not too many paying customers around here these days are there?" he asked, staring at the bartender's back. The hulking man was no doubt, listening to every word being exchanged.

"No sir," her voice was a defeated whisper now as she hung her head in shame.

"Well what are we waiting for?" he asked, finishing his drink and setting his glass down. He reached a hand out to her. "Show me where we're going,"

The relief cutting across her features turned his ever-present rage into a roaring thing inside of him.

* * *

><p>"At the risk of repeating myself," Danny said over the phone. "I really don't like being lied to."<p>

"I didn't lie…" Clara pinched the bridge of her nose.

"You omitted the truth." He stated. "It's the same thing and you know it."

"I'm sorry. I really am," Clara did her best not to throw something. It felt like she was having the same conversation for the second time in four hours. Only this time, it was with Danny. "I just didn't know how to tell you."

"Why would it have been such a big deal?" he asked. "I thought you said the two of you were just friends. Unless that's not the truth either."

"We're certainly not having an affair if that's what you're implying," Clara snapped.

"You can't keep treating me like I'm stupid." his annoyance was coming through clearly from the other end.

"No, of course I don't think you're stupid." She paused, and added. "I love you."

"I love you too," he said, although he didn't sound exactly sure.

Clara stared out her kitchen window, up at the sky, feeling her stomach clench as she wondered where the Doctor was, what he was doing, and when she would see him again. She couldn't help but worry that he was going to get himself into trouble somehow, given his mood.

"Danny…I had a really long day. Do you mind if we continue this conversation tomorrow?" she asked.

"_Will_ I see you tomorrow?" he sounded peeved at being dismissed. "Or will you be running after some new monster with your other boyfriend?"

"That's childish." She said stiffly.

"Right," he sighed. "I'm sorry. I will see you tomorrow then I guess."

"Good night,"

Pressing the red button on her touch screen, Clara poured herself a glass of wine, hoping it would provide some sort of relief for her raging thoughts.

* * *

><p>The room Lily led the Doctor to, was about the size of a small closet; the pallet that had somehow been shoved inside the miniscule space smelled like stale sex and sweat. There was no doubt in his mind what it was used for.<p>

"We should have some privacy here." She closed the door behind her. "Before we proceed, we need to talk credits."

"Was the small fortune I handed your pimp not enough?" the Doctor asked crudely, watching her expression fall even further. Nonetheless, he reached back into his breast pocket and gave her another stack of currency. Somehow, she managed to smile briefly at him as she took the money, tucking it into the small purse she carried on a garish gold chain.

"How do you want me?" she asked, lowering her voice back into the seductive octave she had used earlier in the evening. Or at least, she was making a game attempt.

The Doctor stared at her, unable to keep himself from seeing the faint resemblance she bore…

All he had to do was to let himself pretend, just for a little while…

"Turn around," he ordered.

"And lift up your hair. Please."

Confused, she did as he bid, allowing him to gently push her head forwards so that she was facing the floor. Drawing his sonic screwdriver out of his coat, he shone its faint light down at the nape of her beck.

A small cable appeared to be embedded between the bottom of her scalp and the top of her spine.

"How long have you had this implanted in you?" he asked quietly.

"Pardon?" she turned to look at him, removing her hands from her hair.

"How long have you had that feed implanted into your spinal cord?" he pressed on. "Is that how you are paid? Are there more of you?"

"I don't understand," she stuttered.

"Yes, you do." He said. "That's a Cortex Stimulator. With the right set of instructions keyed into a main hub somewhere, you either spend the next six hours blissed out of your head, or you spend it curled up in pain. I've seen this before – common method of controlling indentured servants and…and slaves."

"Sir, please," she begged. "Keep your voice down, he'll kill you. I've seen him do it to others."

"I'd like to see him try," the Doctor unlocked the door they entered from. "The hubs are usually short range, so whatever's used on you can't be far. You're either going to help me find it, or I'll find it myself. Your choice."

"Sir, please, no!" she cried out, looking panicked. Realizing she was going to be of no assistance, the Doctor shut the door in her face and locked her in with the use of the screwdriver.

There was a door at the end of the long corridor he was standing in, marked with a red sign above which read "Do Not Enter". Grinning wolfishly, he strode towards it, wondering why all his missions were never this easy. As expected, that entrance was firmly locked, and he couldn't seem to get it open even with the aid of the sonic screwdriver. Tucking the tool back into his coat, he took one step back, lifted a foot, and slammed his entire body weight into the thin wood. One side of the door fell into splinters, and required only another nudge before it swung completely open for him.

His grin lasted perhaps another five seconds. All his humour evaporated as he stepped past the threshold and beheld the sight within.


	3. Unbelievers

**Unbelievers**

* * *

><p><em>Girl, you and I will die unbelievers,<em>

_Bound to the tracks of the train._

_I'm not excited, but should I be?_

* * *

><p>The Doctor had more than his share of unpleasant memories, some of which prevented him from sleeping soundly ever again. Some of the memories were wrought by his own two hands, others by the machinations of his enemies.<p>

The scene before him was far from the worst thing he had witnessed in his long life, but nonetheless, it sent a shiver of disgust running down his spine. The human capacity to inflict suffering on members of their own race has never yet failed to sicken him.

Various individuals, perhaps slightly more than twenty of them, lay sprawled out across the floor of the room, in various stages of dress and undress. Some were certainly high on the artificially induced dopamine flooding their systems, though as he expected, a good many of them were moaning in pain, lost in private excruciating tortures. All of them were filthy sacks of skin and bone, their skins cracked and pockmarked from malnutrition.

The room smelled strongly of human filth, and it was all the Doctor could do to keep from retching where he stood.

A lone cupboard stood in one corner of the room. Judging from the cables sticking out from the back, winding their way across the dirty floor, it was obvious that the cupboard held the machine meting out various levels of ecstasy and agony within each twitching body on the ground.

With careful steps, the Doctor began to pick his way through the mess of bodies, doing his best not to step on anyone.

He was about halfway through the room when he saw her.

The woman was unmistakable even under the layer of grime that covered her face, even with her hair unevenly shorn and patchy in places on her scalp. Her cheekbones stood out prominently, her lips dry and peeling. A thin moan forced its way out of her mouth.

"Clara," he called out in horror, immediately kneeling down on the floor, reaching out to touch her. Everything else in the room, everyone else, the entire reason why he was in there to begin with faded away. The universe narrowed down to that one person in front of him, whose face haunted his every waking moment.

Logically, he understood that this wasn't Clara – not his Clara who he had only recently dropped off in her home, healthy and wholesome. Not his Clara, who faced down monsters and men alike.

But this woman bore her face – a ravaged, scarred…beloved face. He couldn't stop his hearts from shattering at the sight in front of him.

"No," she whispered, drawing away from his touch, cowering like a dog about to be struck. "Please."

"What do you think you're doing?" a loud voice roared from the doorway he had just wrecked.

The Doctor ignored him, forcing himself to examine with as much clinical detachment as he could muster, the condition of the woman.

"I don't care how many credits you have," the owner of the bar continued. There was a loud thud. The Doctor knew without looking that the other man had just kicked one of the junkies aside like so much trash in his effort to get further into the room.

The Time Lord stood up, unfolding his body to his full height and turned to look at the advancing brute; he had one hand clamped down painfully on the upper arm of a sniveling Lily.

"Let her go," the Doctor said with deadly calm. "Now."

"It's sweet that you care. But are you gonna be the one who stops me, little man?" the bartender smirked. "Are you gonna play hero for these little shits?"

"Yes." The Doctor turned and continued on his journey to the far end of the room.

Though stronger than the average human, the Doctor knew he was at a physical disadvantage in the situation he was in. On the other hand, he was also confident that he was the smarter opponent in any fight. That is, until he heard the unmistakable click of a weapon behind him, which indicated that his odds had definitely just changed for the worse.

"Get your gorram ass away from the Stim Hub," the bartender threatened. "Or I will kill this whore."

"Does your mother know you swear like this?" The Doctor turned around with his hands raised in surrender. Lily looked imploringly at him as she attempted to shrink away from the gun pressed to her skull.

"That's a good man." The thug smiled, shoving the woman in his grasp away as he repointed the gun at the Doctor. "I ain't dishonorable – I ain't never shot a man in the back,"

"Are you going to shoot me or bore me to death?" the Doctor asked.

Things happened quickly after that. The thug squeezed his trigger while the Doctor dove towards him, employing every last iota of his Time Lord reflexes to dodge the bullet overhead. A burning sting in his arm informed him that he had at least been grazed, but there was no time to stop and nurse what wound he had just received. Grinding his jaw, the Doctor tackled the bartender to the ground, relying on his momentum to send the big man tumbling. The gun skidded away.

The two of them struggled in a flurry of limbs and grunts, while all around, the groggy inhabitants of the room attempted to move out of harm's way. All too easily, the Doctor was overpowered and he found himself on his back, with the thug's big meaty hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing mercilessly.

Desperately, the Doctor struggled to hold on to consciousness, his hands grasping at the bartender's forearms in a weak attempt to loosen the bigger man's hold.

Without warning, a shot rang out, and that murderous grasp loosened.

The Doctor looked up at his would-be killer. The thug's eyes had rolled upwards into his skull, glazing over in death. With some difficulty, he shoved the other man's body away, and saw who his rescuer was.

"Motherfucker," she pronounced, her drawl sounding completely bizarre emerging from her familiar mouth.

"Clara," he still found himself whispering hoarsely.

"That's not my name," she murmured, before collapsing from the exertion. Her hands were still grasping the gun that had been dropped by the bartender. The Doctor scrambled forwards ungracefully, gathering the stranger in his arms.

"What _is_ your name then?" he asked, cradling her against him.

"I…" her eyes were unfocused and lost. "Sweet Jesus…I can't remember."

"Of course you can," Her breathing was laboured, and it was becoming clear that whatever torments her body had been put through, the ultimate toll had already been paid. The Doctor reached to touch her temple, hoping to draw her name out of her memories. He could at least give that back to her.

"I think…I think there are more of them coming," she said as her eyelids slid shut for the last time. "Run. Run you clever boy, and remember…"

He could have gone a whole lifetime without hearing that phrase uttered ever again. The woman in his arms stopped breathing.

"She's right," Lily said nervously, moving closer. He had forgotten she was there at all. "There are more of them, though they're all out on a job right now. They will be back within the hour…you should go before they get back."

The Doctor bowed his head for a moment.

Laying the body down to the ground before he stood up, he removed the gun from lifeless hands as he did so. His own clothing was soiled from the struggle, and he saw that there was blood on his hands as he removed the ammunition clip from the weapon. The bullets, he stowed into his pocket, the gun, he dropped carelessly.

Striding towards the cupboard, he flung it open and withdrew his sonic screwdriver from his pocket. He was just about to disable the Stimulation Hub within permanently when Lily hurried up to him.

"Wait, please!" she protested in alarm. "What are you doing?"

Surprised she had to ask, he lowered his arm and looked at her.

"I'm trying to set you free." he said. "Isn't that what you want?"

"The simulator…it's all some of us have." She begged. "It gives us something to live for. You don't understand…"

He looked at her pityingly. "I cannot abide by the thought of people being controlled like mindless drones,"

Lifting his arm again, he activated the screwdriver. The Cortex Stimulator Hub sparked once, twice, and then all the lights within died, never to be re-activated.

Lily stepped closer and slapped him. Hard. Around the room, people began to awaken either from their blissful stupor, or from their private hells. Some groaned in disappointment.

"What gives you the right?" she spat.

The Doctor tucked the sonic screwdriver back into his coat pocket and left Lily where she stood, staring tearfully at the broken machine. On his way out, he stopped and scooped up the body of the woman who had died so that he could live.

* * *

><p>As she finished her glass of wine, a strange, sick feeling started spreading somewhere in Clara's chest.<p>

Attributing it to the stresses of the day, she changed out of her clothes and pulled on her pajamas, ordering herself a pizza before she settled in front of the television.

By the time the food was delivered, Clara wasn't sure that she wanted to eat at all. If anything, she felt a very strong urge to throw up. Perhaps she was coming down with something, she thought as she stared at the food on her plate.

On the television screen, someone screamed, jolting her out of her reverie. Looking up, she stared as actors ran down a dark street, running from monsters that seemed mindless in their hunger. Something about the way the actor's faces stretched in mock terror brought her queasiness to the fore. With more force than she intended, she shoved the pizza away from her.

Still seated on the sofa, she continued to listen to the sounds of a staged struggle onscreen, although her head was now between her knees. After some time, she began to shake uncontrollably.

* * *

><p>"Hello Jenny, Madame Vastra," he said at their door.<p>

"Clara!" Jenny clapped her hand to her mouth as she beheld the scene before her, grief suffusing her features. Her wife however, seemed a little more wary.

"Not Clara," the Doctor shook his head. "Please - I'm sorry to impose on you once more, but can you make sure she's buried properly? I'm afraid I don't know her name…she rescued me, and I don't know her name..."

Madame Vastra sighed, but reached out for the woman's body nonetheless.

"And you Doctor? Are you in need of our assistance?" she asked. "I can tell that you're hurt…and bleeding."

But he had already turned to leave, missing the look of concern on the women's faces.

* * *

><p>Insomnia was watching sleepless minutes and hours slip away like water down a drain.<p>

Clara's mind drifted in the night and try as she might, she was unable to escape the events of her day. Mentally, she replayed over and over, the faces of the policewoman, of the service workers whom in the end, she did not manage to save.

What were their names? Did she even know their names? They had depended on her to guide them towards salvation, and all most of them had received for their troubles was death.

And she had dared to call herself "good". The Doctor was ultimately right - _Goodness had nothing to do with it. _She had been such a stupid, arrogant girl.

_Sometimes, the only choices you have are bad ones_, she heard a familiar voice repeat in her mind. Was this then, what it was truly like to be the Doctor?

Burying her face in a pillow, Clara began to cry.

* * *

><p>He dressed his wound quickly and efficiently - the bullet had only grazed him slightly and already, the bleeding was stopping. Hurriedly, he changed out of his soiled clothes, and returned to the console room, charting the most direct course he could think of to the only place in the universe where he wanted to be right then.<p>

As soon as his ship touched down, he hurried to the entrance and opened the door to Clara's bedroom, only to find that she was already standing at the threshold, waiting for him with wide and suspiciously red eyes.

Before he could say a word, she had flung herself into his arms. There was no time for him to recite his perfunctory protests about hugging, even if he had wanted to go through that routine.

"I'm sorry," she said against his chest, her voice muffled. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Me too," he allowed his arms to wrap around her.

"I didn't save them." She sobbed. "I couldn't. God help me, but I couldn't."

Whatever latent anger he still bore for her melted away instantly.

Pushing her away just slightly, he bent down and brushed his lips against hers. She was here, warm and alive…and returning his kiss. Cupping her face with his hands, he wiped away the tears that were streaming down her cheeks with his thumbs.

Unseeing, he guided her backwards until the back of her knees bumped up against the edge of her bed. Carefully, he laid her down, one knee between her legs. Long fingers brushed her hair away as he kissed on her eyelids, slowly making his way to her neck. His hands wandered, drifting against her sides before they found their way under her camisole.

As his fingers brushed against a pebbled nipple, he elicited a gasp from her, reminding him of his own growing arousal. Moving downwards, his lips wrapped around her other small breast, gently suckling her through the thin cotton of her tank top.

"Doctor…" she gasped.

A strangled groan escaped his chest; his deft fingers pulled her pajama bottoms down along with her underwear. Lifting his head, he surveyed Clara, pausing as if suddenly hesitant.

She trailed her fingers down his clothed arm before sitting up to divest him first of his jacket, and then his shirt. He stilled her wrists before she could get to his belt, and almost clumsily, he slid off the bed to kneel before her.

Experimentally, he trailed a line of kisses along the inside of her thigh; when he finally reached the juncture between her legs, he lapped tentatively at her exposed clit.

"Oh god," he heard her say distantly. The Doctor smiled against her skin even as he continued to taste her. Very slowly, he slipped one finger, and then two inside her slick channel.

His own arousal was becoming more and more difficult to ignore as the intensity of her moans increased. When it became too much to bear, he pulled himself away, undoing his belt and his trousers.

"Please," she said softly, reaching out to hold him.

Climbing over her, in one smooth motion, he was buried in her warmth. Her hips lifted against his in answer. Their movements seemed clumsy at first, unfamiliar with each other's bodies as they were, but as they continued to rock against each other, they gradually began to move in sync. The rhythm they created became more frantic with every second that passed.

"Clara…" he gasped, pressing his damp forehead against hers. "I can't…"

"Let go," she said breathlessly, echoing her words from earlier. "Just let go…"

No longer able to form a coherent thought, he did as she bid, coming with her name on his lips.

* * *

><p>The sun was peeking through her blinds, but still, she had yet to sleep. She rested in the crook of his arm, one hand resting on his bare chest, the other tucked under him.<p>

"Where did you get those bruises?" she stared at his neck in some concern.

"After I dropped you off here, I went for a drink." he grimaced. "Let's not talk about it."

"Lost a fight?" she teased idly.

"Something like that." he responded shortly, not wanting to recall her face, frozen in death. "I'm not good at human schedules, but shouldn't you be getting ready for work?"

"I took the week off," she shook her head.

"And Danny?" he asked without rancour.

"Danny," she repeated, not looking at him. "Right."

"Clara, I don't want to disrupt your life," he looked down at her. "I know I don't have a place in it…"

"Of course you do," she interrupted. "You know you do. You've had a place since the day I met you."

He remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"I…" she sounded tired. "I got people killed yesterday…and after that, I congratulated myself on a job well done."

She sat up and looked him in the eye. "What do I do now? Do I just go back to living my life like nothing happened? What kind of person does that make me?"

Shifting a little, he turned his face away.

"What would you like me to tell you?" he questioned. "That it gets easier?"

"Does it?" she asked imploringly.

He furrowed his brows, thinking.

"Yes," he turned back to her. "And no. You have to learn how not to let every waking moment become a cacophony of guilt over the people you couldn't possibly have saved. You have to try and hold on to the thought that there are people who are alive because of you."

"Does that actually help?" her voice was small, like a child's.

"Sometimes." he reached out to caress her face.

Clara lay back down in his arms.

"Would you like to go get some coffee and bagels? I know a great place in New York…in 1997," he said after a while. "Closed now though – roaches or something."

She stretched upwards to give him a kiss. The Doctor felt his own body responding to the feel of her curves pressed up against him. Should he even try to pretend that this wasn't going to happen again, he wondered.

"Sounds like a plan," she said, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

_This will have to do_, he thought, trying not to worry about the day when whatever _this_ was, stopped being enough for either of them.

_This will have to do._


End file.
